Fine Lines
by Alaynna
Summary: Taking this job was perhaps the worst mistake Arthur and Ariadne could have ever made. It took them places that neither of them thought they'd ever go, made them people they swore they'd never be. Arthur/Ariadne
1. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

_A/N: I had a random burst of an idea for an _Inception_ fic, so here it is. Let's see how long my attention span can last this time…reviews are always great motivation, though, _hinthint!_ ;] This fic is going to be a little dark for awhile, but bear with me, it'll get better. However, I'll let you decide what's actually happening. My mouth is closed about the main events taking place, though I may choose to answer a few questions if I don't think they're giving too much away. :] Okay, here it goes!_

_By the way, this is T for some language, implied rape, and torture. If anyone complains, I'll bump it up to M, but it won't get any more graphic than this first chapter._

* * *

The pain was breathtaking.

That is, what Ariadne could feel of it; she had felt so much of it for so long that she could only dimly tell of the condition she was in. Something sharp seared under her skin, and something else devastatingly heavy slammed against the bones of her forearm, snapping it neatly in two. Yet, her throat was so swollen with screams that she could not make a sound; only a shrill, aching wheeze escaping her bruised lips.

The breathing above her was close; he was near, touching her bare skin. Weakly, she cracked an eye open. It was the only one capable of movement. The flesh around her other eye was far too puffed and purple; Ariadne didn't know if it would even work anymore, it had taken so much abuse.

There was one agony to which her senses were not dull. No matter how many times he had violated her, Ariadne still felt the sick terror light up her belly. It was the worst of all the torments she had endured at his hands, and she couldn't bear the thought of another such encounter.

"Please," she tried to plead, but it came out as a rusty whimper. _Please._ She felt liquid trickle down her face, but she had no way of knowing if it was blood or tears.

He just chuckled. The sound to her ears was almost inhuman. Through her blurred vision, Ariadne could just make out the icy white of his face. His hair, despite all the torture he had inflicted upon her so viciously, was still in perfect condition, slicked back so neatly that it made her ill to think that he could look so perfect and be such a monster at the same time.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," the man said silkily, running his fingers casually over the blood-slicked knife in his hand. A smile pursed his cold lips. Unwittingly, Ariadne's lone chocolate orb flicked to his mouth, and he laughed again, amused. Bending forward, he pressed his hard mouth harshly against hers, and she shuddered fully in pain and fear.

Coming closer, he moved past her face. Crept closer to her ear.

"Don't pretend this isn't what you've wanted," he whispered into the pale, delicate shell. "I've been through this entire pathetic thing you deign to claim as your mind. I know _everything_, Ariadne. Your wants, your desires. Your _weaknesses_."

He pulled away slowly, torturously, and stood, beginning to circle the girl in long, languid strides.

"I saw you in your own mind. Heh. You, Ariadne, so arrogant and conceited. You thought yourself the master architect, a flawless designer, the ultimatum in creation. You thought you were a god. Now you know just how wrong you were, my pitiful little dream-weaver. You made me _sick._ You're nothing. You're _mine_ now, and you're going to be mine forever. There's no escape. I hope you know that."

A thought surfaced inside Ariadne's frayed conscious. Words rattled through her sternum, left her lips painfully, same as the spittle blood flecking out of her mouth. The man didn't catch everything, but the one word he understood was _dreaming?_

He laughed, full-throated. "Oh, Ariadne. Even if you were dreaming, what difference does it make? This is your reality now. Pain is pain; isn't that what Cobb taught you? A faceful of glass hurts like hell either way, doesn't it?"

Pulling back, he examined his bound captive, tied so stiffly and expertly to the chair. He smiled again and tenderly, affectionately, and he reached out to touched her face gently. He began long, slow strokes up and down on her mottled cheek.

"You want to know the good news, Ariadne? You think you know pain so far? I haven't even begun to show you the meaning."

Ariadne pulled back as sharply as she could away from his touch. Drawing strength from somewhere deep in her core, she spat out five breathy words.

"_Just kill me, you bastard." _

"Oh, no. I'd never do that, baby. Do you want to know why?"

Her eye shone with revulsion, already knowing the answer.

"It's because I love you, Ariadne."

Because she could only see out of one eye, Ariadne didn't see the blow coming from her right side. It slammed into her head; she exhaled into unconsciousness gratefully, cursing one name again and again in her head.

_Arthur_.

* * *

.

.

**Three months earlier**

.

The ringing phone was silenced as the petite brunette drew it up to her ear, punching a button with her thumb deftly.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

Ariadne's heart jumped gleefully, like a little schoolgirl's as she meets the gaze of the object of her affection. Swallowing quickly, she managed to disguise her childlike excitement. Barely.

It was _him_!

"Arthur. Is everything alright?"

"Do I need something to be wrong to call you, Ariadne?"

The young woman listened to his words, and her heart sunk a little. Of course, in the few months that she'd been apart from Arthur with literally no communication between them, her imagination had racked up thousands of conjurations of the supposed spark she'd thought she'd felt between herself and the point man during the inception job. Now, as she listened to his mild, precise tone, without a speck of inflection of sentiment or affection, she realized that the "spark" had all been on the part of said imagination. She should have known all along.

Ariadne squeezed her eyes shut.

"Uh, no, Arthur, not at all. What can I do for you?"

"I'm in Paris right now, and I'd like to discuss something fairly lucrative with you. I know you're on break right now, so would it be possible to meet with you tonight? Perhaps at that café that's around the corner from your house at seven?"

Ariadne felt a slight twinge of resentment pulse through her heart. The guy was such a cold, calculating jerk when he wanted to be. Of course he knew everything about her, from where she was currently residing to her class schedule; it was his job. And, she assumed, now he wanted her to be a part of his job, reprising her role as a bright young architect. She was nothing more to him than that.

When she'd come back from the inception job, Ariadne had had immense difficulty returning to her former life. When one had lived such a grand adventure, taking up the role of a student again, trapped in the conscious world forever was nothing short of a herculean task. However, she hadn't had much of a choice. It'd seemed the four men had disappeared off the face of the earth. Not a single one had contacted her, though Ariadne had prayed every day that they would. Now that Arthur had, she tasted of the bitter medicine of Be Careful What You Wish For. He was popping her happy daydream balloons with such crushing indifference that she could slap him.

"Yeah," Ariadne heard herself saying. "That's fine. See you at seven."

He hung up without even saying goodbye. Ariadne squeezed the phone tightly in her grasp and exhaled slowly. Despite the cold sort of rejection she'd just endured, Ariadne was still a silly female, and found herself wondering what on earth she was going to wear that night.

Hopefully she'd find something in her closet that screamed _You Just Blew It Big Time, Asshole_.

He was painfully punctual and just as painfully good-looking as Ariadne remembered. He was impeccably dressed as usual, his eyes friendly but clearly all about business rather than camaraderie. She tried to ignore the visions she'd entertained in the past few months about him sweeping her up in a crushing embrace and pressing his lips to hers. Her memory of who Arthur was in reality was clearly not as good as her ridiculous imagination.

"Hello," Arthur said, smiling at her with a quick nod.

"Hey," she said, struggling to return the smile with ease.

He gestured to a table, and they moved towards it. He pulled the chair out for her, and slid it in when her knees bent, his timing perfect. Ariadne bit her lip, trying not to be annoyed. He was such a damn gentleman in every way except what mattered.

Arthur sat across from her and ordered a cup of tea. Ariadne did the same, not taking her eyes off the man across the table. He met her gaze once the waitress had left and smiled again.

"So, down to business," he said, his voice quick and audible only to Ariadne. "I've found a job."

"I figured," Ariadne said nonchalantly.

"This isn't the usual job," Arthur demurred, eyes tightening at the corners with anticipation. "This one is big. It has to be done right; it's for very important people. People more important than anyone else I've ever worked with. They contacted me, told me everything. It's a big deal. Therefore, I need the best. I need you to be a part of it. You're the best architect I've ever met."

She swallowed. Once.

"Um. Who else is going to be a part of it?"

Arthur leaned back, seeming to have been assured that she was in. "Eames is the only one you'll know. I had to get a new extractor, because Dom is out. He just wants to be with his kids, and who could blame him? He's been to hell and back again for those children, and there's no point in putting his new happiness into such huge risk, especially when—"

"Wait a second." Ariadne leaned forward, brows knitting together. "Huge risk? What kind of risk? Like limbo risk?"

"No, no, we're not going that deep." Arthur actually looked slightly uncomfortable. He glanced at Ariadne's suddenly tight expression and sighed. "Look, I'm going to be upfront. The bigger the client, the bigger the risk is if we fail. But don't worry. I've assembled the right team. We aren't going to fail."

"Just how big is this client?" demanded Ariadne sharply. "Be upfront about that!"

Arthur glanced left, then right carefully before looking back at her. "I won't tell you all the details. It's safer that way. But I will tell you the general idea," he added before she could protest. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

"It's a government," he admitted. "Though the target is the one who's more dangerous. The government wants us to go in and find out where this guy's munitions are being shipped. He's an arms dealer."

Ariadne barked out a laugh. "An _arms dealer_? Are you kidding me?"

"Look, Ariadne, this is no joke."

"No kidding, Sherlock!"

"Ariadne."

The tone in his voice made her heart jump the same way it had when she'd picked up the phone earlier that day. Arthur reached out across the table and touched her hand so gently that she felt goosebumps chill along her bare arms.

"You trusted me when we did the inception job. I protected your unconscious body with my _life_. With everything I had. We worked together like clockwork then, because you trusted me. I need you to trust me now. I give you my word that you'll be safe; I'll protect you with everything I have just like I did then. I just really need you to be in for this job, Ariadne."

For a split second, Ariadne thought she saw the mask fall. Arthur's eyes that had been so cool and distant from the moment they'd been together again were as kind and gentle as the times he'd spent training her, watching over her, smiling with her. The Arthur she'd known and had fallen so hard for was back, instead of the shrewd, slicked-back stranger who'd breezed through the café door minutes ago. It was like a breath of warm wind, and she could feel her heart flutter.

She agreed to do the job. Because she knew. For all her arguing and protesting, she was in the minute he walked in the door. Arthur was her weakness.

It wasn't until hours later when she was back in her bed, half fallen into her usual, dream-deprived sleep, that Ariadne remembered that it was Arthur's job to know _everything_ about people. Even their feelings and affections.

And especially their weaknesses.

* * *

_A/N: I feel like Ariadne is a bit out of character, but it could just be my opinion. Besides, we didn't really get to see this side of her emotional spectrum in the film, so it's hard to say. At any rate, you should review and let me know :] _


	2. Ni Le Bien Qu'on M'a Fait

Ariadne's eyes shuddered open. She sat up, gasping, and immediately groaned as agony slashed through her body. Fearfully, she glanced around the dank, cramped little room, and found herself alone.

Relieved for the moment, she turned her attention to her condition. She glanced down to take inventory of herself. Cuts marred her limbs, some shallow, some not, but the deeper ones were carefully bandaged. More bandages were tied around a few of her limbs; a few of her bones were broken, and the realization made her stomach nauseous with pain, but she swallowed her bile as shock rushed in, masking the excruciation. She reached up to touch her face and felt puffy, marred skin scream with sensitivity as her clumsy fingers brushed their surfaces. The fact that she could move her arms at all was a significant relief. The ropes were gone, though their cruel burns had left red, angry chafing encircling her wrists and legs.

He was a sick, sick bastard. He'd beat her half to death, cut her, violated her, and he'd bandaged her wounds, set her broken bones. He'd even placed her back in her underwear. It all felt more like a mockery than actual courtesy. Ariadne swallowed thickly, feeling her raw throat protest, as she remembered the truly awful moments. She wanted to die thinking about it.

Something yellow caught her eye in the fierce light that glared down on her from the one construction light that sat in the corner. Ariadne squinted at it, and realized it was a note. She didn't want to move, she was in such pain, but she had to know what it said.

Ariadne inhaled deeply, and then pushed out the air with a hiss as she drew herself to her feet. He hadn't broken her legs, at least, and she could be grateful for that. Drawing nearer to the table slowly and on wobbly legs, she saw a plate covered in tin foil with a yellow sticky note on top. A tall bottle of water sat nearby. Lifting up the foil, she found fresh food, neatly arranged on the plastic plate. She picked up the note, drawing it closer to her face to read; it fluttered in her shaky hands.

_Darling—_

_I expect every drop and crumb to be gone when I get back. If there's anything left, things will be that much worse for you if I have to feed you myself. If you need to relieve yourself, there's a bucket in the corner. _

_I'll be back soon. Don't miss me too much. _

_All my love,_

–_Arthur_

The note folded easily in her grasp as she crumpled it viciously, wishing it was his heart in her hands instead. Desperation fueled her to search for a way out of the room. She dragged herself around every inch of the 10' x 20' space, pressing at every crack and cranny with her sensitive fingertips, but there was nothing. The one door was locked tightly, but there was no lock on the inside where Ariadne stood, and therefore nothing for her to work with, even if she'd known how to pick locks. There were no windows.

Miserably, Ariadne kicked the bucket in the corner with all the might she had left in her small frame. The plastic thing barely rolled to the wall ten feet away. Her exhausted, riddled state frightened her, and Ariadne realized that even though she despised the thought of acquiescing to anything the monster demanded of her, she did need her strength, and food would certainly help to gain it back. She went back to the table with the food, and began to eat it listlessly, resentfully.

When it was all gone, Ariadne lifted the water bottle, struggling to unscrew the lid. She drank it quickly, not having realized how thirsty she was, but when she was finished with it, she began to feel light headed.

_Damn him_, she cursed as she found the slight, bitter aftertaste of drugs on her tongue. Ariadne stumbled back, fighting the drugs mightily, but their crushing black wave was far too strong. She collapsed onto the floor, falling into a senseless darkness before she'd hit the floor.

.

.

.

"You're spending too much time on those buildings," Arthur said reproachfully.

"You're spending too much time obsessing over her, darling," drawled Eames, walking up behind the two. "Honestly, love, she did a bang up job on the inception case. Quit babying her when she's perfectly capable, Mother Goose."

"Look, this is important. I'm heading up the job this time," Arthur retorted, wheeling on the Forger. "I need things to be done properly, assuming I got the proper people for the job."

"Oh, get the M4A1 out of your arse, Arthur," Eames snapped.

"Guys!" Ariadne yelled irritably. "Both of you shut up, or we're going to be wandering around in a city-wide version of Penrose stairs for the entirety of the mission."

Eames held up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, all right, love, don't get yourself in a twist. I'm out of here anyways. It's gettin' late."

He rumbled away, stopping to peer at something over the new Chemist's shoulder and give his very strong opinion about it as the two exited the building. Now it was only Arthur and Ariadne left in the chilly warehouse, as per usual lately. Arthur was always fussing over something or another, and Ariadne found herself fixing what he'd been fussing over, making for later and later hours.

Ariadne examined Arthur's face, lined with stress and worry. He had been considerably more easy going when Cobb had headed up the inception mission. Now that he was in charge, Arthur was snappier, shorter tempered, and prone to second guessing everyone's work. The perfectionist in him had become something equivalent to a monster boss that the team was quickly tiring of, and yet whose opinions they still respected and followed.

Arthur caught her still-slightly heated gaze and gave Ariadne a quick pat on the shoulder, slightly apologetic and less hostile now that Eames was not there to egg him on. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm picking on you. There's just a lot of pressure on this job. Everything's got to be perfect, you know? If one thing is wrong, it could throw off the trajectory of the entire attempt. Still, I shouldn't be taking it out on you, so I'm sorry."

Ariadne considered for a moment letting him drop the subject and walk away, but that was what she'd done for the entirety of their efforts in pulling the job together. She'd been too afraid to let him know what she was thinking, seeing Arthur in full-blown tension mode like that. It was time to voice her concerns, now or never. She caught his arm as he began to move away.

"Arthur, wait," she said, her voice urgent enough to halt him in his tracks. He gave her a quizzical, slightly annoyed look. She could see him thinking about all the things he still had to get done.

"The reason why everything is so difficult to pull together is because we don't have enough time. Four days just isn't going to prepare us well enough. Something _will_ go wrong."

"Ariadne," Arthur began, looking more than a little annoyed now, "we only have one chance at this. Scuito has just gotten out of prison, but he's already back to his old ways. In a few days, he's going to leave the country, and he'll be almost untraceable. The government said they are going to arrest him in four days on false charges, and let him go after that. We have only three hours as a window of opportunity to complete this extraction, and there's not going to be another shot after that."

"I know all that," Ariadne replied impatiently. "You told us earlier."

"Oh, you heard?" Arthur replied, giving her a smile that was just a little too tight to be anything teasing. "And here I was thinking that you didn't listen to a word I said."

"Arthur, I'm being serious."

"So am I. Don't you think I've thought everything out? If you all will just do the jobs I've assigned you, we'll be fine. Scuito hasn't had the training Fischer had. I've made damn sure of it this time. I've researched him inside and out. This is going to be a breeze if we just follow what I've mapped out."

"Even if he hasn't had the training, Scuito is a dangerous man," Ariadne argued. "I'm sure his mind will be likewise."

Arthur's expression shifted to denigrating as he regarded the Architect. "_Ariadne_. Don't confuse the mind with the dream. Our team is going to be in control of the dreams, and so Scuito will be under our control, as well."

"Dreams are the gateway to the subconscious, Arthur. They are the links to the minds and the hearts of people. Things could be more volatile than you might think."

"Why are you questioning me so much, Ariadne? Why can't you just trust my judgment? Why can't you just believe me when I say that I have everything figured out?"

"Because that's just the problem. Not everything can be figured out, especially by you. You're so dependent on matters of the mind that you don't ever factor in matters of the heart and soul. I'm just reminding you that those things exist!"

Arthur looked right at her coldly. "Oh, believe me. When it comes to you, Ariadne, I can't help but know that those things exist."

If he had smiled, or spoken with warmth and affection, those were the words that Ariadne had been longing to hear from him. As it was, Ariadne felt her breath hitch in her throat. Blood roared in her ears as her face flushed brilliantly. As she looked into Arthur's emotionless brown eyes, she received the confirmation of the suspicions she'd mulled over in her bed on the night he'd offered the job to her. Arthur did know about her feelings for him. He'd known. And yet, he'd strung her along this whole time. Where had he learned to be so heartless?

She didn't think that that moment that he could have cut her any deeper, the way he said those words.

Ariadne didn't say a word. She couldn't. She simply picked up her things and left, exiting the building and into the rainy night.

She didn't hear him curse regretfully under his breath at his own callousness and start to go after her, only to stop and let her go.

* * *

_A/N: I debated on whether or not I should've added that last sentence. I decided that Arthur isn't going to be a complete jerkface :D Poor guy's just under pressure and cracking._

_Yeah, this is more or less a filler chapter, and a rather short one at that. It's a necessary evil to set up the next chapter, which will be a bit more exciting than this one :] _

_Reviews are love, _amiguitos_. But you already knew that. ;P_


	3. Ni Le Mal

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I'm about to start up classes again at my university, so I'll probably be slower on the updates. _

_I got a question about the timelines and structure of the chapters. The first half is the present. The latter half is the past. I hope that clears things up :]_

.

.

.

She wasn't sure where the suspicion had first been seeded, but it was there.

There was a lot of time in between beatings, and in it, Ariadne watched Arthur. The more she watched him, the more her suspicion became tangible and real. Sometimes, it was the way he looked at her, so hungrily, like he was going to devour her one minute and crush her between his teeth with relish. Occasionally, it was the way he spoke, still condescending, but with more hesitant sentences, fewer calm notes. He had many of the habits he usually did, such as the way he left one hand in his pocket—where she knew he was fingering weighted di—but he seemed to have forgotten a few other ones.

How could Ariadne not have seen all this before?

She regarded him calmly, feeling almost broken with relief as it rush through her aching body. "You're not Arthur."

Of course it wasn't. Ariadne had been so quick to assume that Arthur was doing this because it was right in front of her. She'd believed it because she thought there was a level to him that she hadn't seen, a twisted, dark, and brutal side that had been ripped in him at childhood or some traumatic event. She'd assumed his psyche was broken in some way, so that the cold, calculating bastard had been driven to become a festering monster with an easy, helpless target. But she'd been so wrong.

She'd seen Arthur. She didn't _know_ him inside and out, but Ariadne had seen him. She'd been inside his dreams when he'd trained her for the Fischer job. As she'd learned from Cobb, broken psyches were not so easily hidden.

What was more was that she couldn't remember how they had both gotten here. And as much as she racked her brain, Ariadne had no idea what could have caused him to hate her this much. She couldn't recall doing anything that would have made him destroy her like this.

"Whatever do you mean, dearest?" 'Arthur' gave her a quick smile as his fingers played over a set of knives on the table. "Of course I am. Perhaps the blood loss has finally gotten to you."

"You're not Arthur," she repeated. _And I'm the biggest traitor for believing that you were._

His hand flashed up quickly, and she expected the snap of pain on her bruised cheek. Instead, it traced the soft roundness of her face gently, soothingly.

"You know what's funny about the human mind, Ariadne?"

His hand moved away and back to the blades. He picked up one, still smiling like no one but Arthur could. Almost no one. Despite the fact that she knew it wasn't Arthur holding the knife, it didn't look any less like him. The thought chilled her.

He met her gaze easily, almost friendlily. "If the mind sees something enough times, it can be made to believe almost anything, despite what it may know."

As she saw the glint in his eyes, such a cold, sadistic look, Ariadne understood why he was not denying anything. She knew she didn't have to ask why. It was because it didn't matter.

He was going to keep torturing her, right up 'til she went mad.

'Arthur' lunged forward before she could even react, plunging the knife into her stomach as he tipped her chair over. Ariadne managed a surprised scream of pain before she fell.

With the same breath, she jerked forward. However, she found herself sitting in a room that was identical to the one which she'd just departed. Ariadne's eyes moved almost frantically around the tiny space. It was an exact replica. However, now, a PASIV machine sat next to her, a tube connected to her thin wrist. Ariadne focused on the limb; it was whole, unbroken. In fact, she was free of any pain at the moment, and she allowed relieved sound to leave her mouth.

The relief was far too short lived as Ariadne discovered herself tied down to the chair in which she sat. More horror shot through her, as well, when she saw the figure next to her was hooked up to the PASIV device.

The Forger was still asleep, still holding Arthur's stolen face over his own. Ariadne knew she had to work quickly while she had this chance. He was likely going to follow her back up this level in a matter of seconds. She was free of any injuries that could hold her back. If only she could find a way to get out, she knew her chances of escape were far greater with her revitalized condition.

Ariadne wriggled her wrists and legs. They were bound with thick rope that chafed her pale skin, making ugly red marks on her limbs. She yanked desperately, trying to find some kind of leniency in the rope without success. She cursed underneath her breath. She had to knock her chair over and get the kick.

That attempt caused questions to well up in her mind as she worked frantically to tip over her chair. How many levels were there in her dream? How deep had the Forger taken her? Who was he?

Ariadne had herself up on her tiptoes and was working on getting enough leverage when movement next to her sent her nearly to tears. The Forger stood before her calmly. He gave her a polite grin and slammed her chair back down.

"Now why would you be trying to leave me? Aren't you happy with your Arthur? Isn't this what you've always wanted? Being with the man you love for always and eternity?"

"Go to hell," Ariadne spat.

He grabbed her chin and kissed her, pressing Arthur's cold lips against hers. In the same motion that brought him close to her, she felt the thrill of another blade against her arm. The Forger pulled away to see her reaction.

"That's the idea," he said, smiling.

He started up again, and Ariadne tumbled back down into another endless haze of pain. Two more thoughts bubbled up through her mind before they were lost in the agonized dredges.

Where was the real Arthur? Was he suffering as she was?

.

.

.

The library was too large to keep easy track of Scuito, but there he was.

"It's amazing that he grew up here," Ariadne noted underneath her breath as she pretended to study at a table across from Arthur. After that night, she'd returned the next morning, trying to be as distant and professional as he was. It had been working, and their business relationship had resumed, albeit a bit more cold. She could have quit, but something in her just wouldn't allow that course of action.

"What do you mean?"

"I know the exact size of the place. The flooring is white marble. The shelves are antique and almost a century old. The angels on the ceiling are gilded. This is the library of the wealthy."

"Yeah, I told you," Arthur said. "His family was very well off. They inherited money for generations. Old, rich blue blood. He gave it all up when he turned twenty. What's so amazing about it?"

"Most people who become criminals lead desperate lives. It seems to me he's doing all of this…for _fun_."

"He's a twisted man," Arthur admitted distractedly, and then he whispered into the comlink in his hand. "Lorenzo. How's the extraction going?"

"_Eames is playing his part perfectly."_ The new Extractor's voice came through clearly through Ariadne's earpiece. _"I only need a few more moments. Everything's going according to plan. You'll have your information in mere minutes, boss."_

"Perfect," Arthur murmured, and a satisfied smile crept across his face. Now that he was feeling more confident about the outcome, Ariadne could see him begin to relax a little bit more. His eyes flicked up to her face, and she quickly dropped her own gaze down at the book in front of her.

"Ariadne," he said in a low voice, and her treacherous heart, despite the abuse he'd dealt it a few days ago, still skipped a beat.

"What is it?" she replied, still not looking up.

"Will you please look at me?"

With a sigh, Ariadne did as he asked, and instantly regretted it. He was looking at her with an emotion in his eyes that she didn't recognize, but the two dark pools were still deeply beautiful enough to make her stomach do the classic flip of infatuation.

"What?" she asked, trying to make her voice flat.

"I'm sorry."

Shock popped her mouth open, and suspicion locked it closed. He was probably just playing her again, strumming her heart along like a harp string. He probably just wanted something from her. Maybe he wanted her on another job.

He seemed to know what her reaction meant—as usual—and he held up his hands, palms up to the ceiling in an almost helpless gesture. His eyes were softer than usual, almost sad.

"I know that there's no way to convince you. Not right now, at least. But I do want you to know that I still am sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

She knew he meant it, but not for the right reasons. Ariadne suspected he regretted hurting her like that because it jeopardized her role in this job. She folded her arms across her chest and just looked at him.

It was his turn to sigh. "I know it's hard to believe, but you've been throwing me…off guard. I've been reacting…very badly these days."

Her jaw tightened. "Why, Arthur? What did I do to you?"

She spoke calmly, but there was still a level edge to her voice that commanded an honest response. If he was going to blame it on her feelings, at least it would be out and in the open. It may hurt like hell, but it would be closure.

For the first time since she'd known him, Ariadne thought he actually visibly looked a little taken aback. The strange look in his eyes was back, and he was about to speak again, when the comlinks in their ears buzzed.

"_Arthur. Something's wrong. We got the information, but Scuito's moving in an irregular pattern through the library. He's headed your way." _

Arthur tightened in a millisecond. He stood and glanced at Ariadne. "Stay here and look natural."

Ariadne's breath caught as he strode away. She forced herself to look down at her book as tense silence overtook the comlink. The seconds ticked by, and Ariadne didn't read one word as she fought the urge to look up and around. The others began to murmur with frustration into the link.

"_What the hell's going on? Why'd he leave?"_

"_He didn't make any of us, I'd swear!"_

"_Damn it! Lost him,"_ someone was saying. Right at that moment, a shadow fell over her book. Automatically, Ariadne looked up.

Scuito was standing right in front of her. Ariadne swallowed a gasp as she looked up at the tall Italian. He was intimidating to say the least, with slicked back black hair, a long scar over his forehead, and broad shoulders that suggested muscle hidden beneath his blazer.

It would seem there was more than just muscle hidden there. Without warning, Scuito drew a gun and pointed it right at Ariadne. She didn't have even a moment to cry out before he fired.

The two shots hit her directly in the chest. Ariadne crumpled to the floor, feeling warm liquid instantly begin to blossom on her gray sweater. Shock laced her veins so that she wasn't aware of anything until Arthur's face was above hers. He was holding her, she realized, propping her up over his lap. She was dimly aware that the others had fired on Scuito, and there was an awful lot of yelling and screaming. As she lay in his arms, Arthur was shouting something to her, but her eyes couldn't quite focus on his eyes or mouth. With a quiet sigh, Ariadne bled out.

She was grateful they had only taken Scuito in one level of the dream. Being so close to the surface meant that death did not lead to limbo, but back to reality. Ariadne shuddered awake.

Her eyes opened, and the first thing she was Scuito across the room, awake and staring at her. This time, she did have time to scream.

Ariadne didn't stop screaming, even when Arthur pulled her up and out of the room. She couldn't, because she could feel Scuito's eyes, still following her.

* * *

_A/N: I bet some of you are relieved that it's not Arthur ;] Even so, you may think you know who's hurting Ariadne, but you might be surprised. You're welcome to make a guess in a review, though I probably will neither confirm nor deny your guesses. _


End file.
